“There is someone in my rooms,” Anna said. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. That he’s come here at all shows he’ll stop at nothing. You will make her suffer. I haven’t, anyhow. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. On the contrary. “Well, if I find your conversation interesting I shall listen. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators.
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